


Asylum

by Monobear



Category: Dangan Ronpa - All Media Types
Genre: Gen, Gore, Graphic Description of Corpses
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-09-30
Updated: 2014-09-30
Packaged: 2018-02-19 09:48:42
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,354
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2383835
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Monobear/pseuds/Monobear
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Junko's first kill.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Asylum

I don't like to pick blameless victims, oh, no. Everyone who I've killed in my life is guilty of something - a murder, a massacre, theft, what-have-you. They've all committed at least one crime, and that's why I'm justified in my way of thinking. You'd imagine that I wouldn't be - I'm insane, aren't I? - but no, I am. I've got a logical reasoning behind everything, you see, and if you'll just listen to me, I'll explain.  
  
You see, the most powerful people are the most corrupt people in the end. If you're talented at something, you'll at least have one crime to your name, one you'd like to cover up, and one you'd do anything to get rid of. Maybe it's nothing. Maybe you claim to be innocent, but there's always that sliver of doubt that you have to wonder - what if you caused something? Personally, I'd be proud. Villains are always more remembered than heroes, and that's who you hear about all the time.   
  
That's why deep in their heart, everyone wants to become a villain.  
  
Not something idiotic like having a 'purge' or something, no. A legit, 100% illegal crime. That's the only way to find it truly satisfying. I remember my first murder with a faint fondness - I took a sense of care into it, y'know? A good amount of pride. It was the first thing I'd ever done that stood out besides Mukuro's many achievements, and so I would always find myself thinking over it. Over and over, time and time again, it crossed my mind and made me smile.

My first murder was when I was 7. It was a young girl - a tiny girl about my age, and she constantly had a white bear plushie that she took around with her. It was old and worn, and it had tears and cotton bursting out of it, and yet she spoke to it. She spoke to it like it gave her some sense of security, some way to feel like she fit in when everyone else hated her. I spoke to her off-and-on, and she was pure. Innocent. She'd never hurt a fly, if she could help it, and that was why I hated her. I hated her so much that I wanted to kill her.

So I did.

It wasn't difficult, either. I simply pinned her down and traced a pocketknife I got across her cheek, causing a small red slit as she helplessly looked up at me, fear and anticipation crossing her eyes. "Now, Mariko--" I began, "--you've got all of this innocence about you. This constant 'hope' that you trail across like a stench wafting about in the breeze. You smile for no reason. You laugh while everyone else is laughing at you, and why do you do that? You'd love to be accepted - loved for once in your life - and have someone tell you that they actively want to befriend you. I know that. I know you better than anyone else does." She stared at me as if she'd been shot in the forehead, her face draining of color and emotion. "That's why I'd like you to do a few things for me." I helped her stand up, and she stared at me helplessly. She knew she wouldn't be helped by anyone - who would believe the fact that I, of all people, hurt an innocent little girl?

Helplessly, she waited for my first order. Smiling, I waved my hand in front of her.  "Cut your fingers off. One by one. And hand them to me." Mariko opened her mouth a bit, but she merely winced when I handed her a pair of scissors, and watched, my eyes darting to her petite little fingertips, her dainty little hand that once held my own, once formed peace signs in pictures, once belonged to her. It was mine now.  She put her bear down, hesitating as she raised her scissors to her fingers and her eyes filled with tears. Pathetic, annoying tears. 

It was music to my ears when I heard the sounds of **_snnnkt, snnnnkt,_ ** and faint cracks as her digits hit the ground and she bit her lip gruesomely hard to force herself not to scream from the pain. I picked them up, prodding her with one of them, as she shuddered and let out a small whimper. That's when I had to click my tongue, raising my pocketknife to her ear and putting it between the small gap of her ear and her head. "We don't want anyone hearing us, now do we? Perhaps I should remind you of that. A permanent reminder." The fact that she nearly doubled over when I handed her her own ear was delightful. Almost hilarious, in a pathetic way. She couldn't believe her own eyes, and neither could I, frankly.

That's why those were the next to go.

The sound of a knife digging its way into a sensitive place was always a splendid one, especially the time I first heard it. **_Sppppthhh._** It was juicy - that was the best word to describe it, juicy - and coupled with tiny whimpers of pain, it was even better. I couldn't help myself from laughing. The look on her face made me want to kiss her, really. A broken, scared, and alone little girl, trapped with a psychopath. She wouldn't get out of this alive, and she knew it. She couldn't. No one could know - not yet, no - this was only the start and we couldn't make my tricks of the trade up front yet. 

That was when I noticed her precious little bear. Her snow-white delicate little kuma. I picked it up, holding it in front of my face. "Upupupupu~ you've certainly lost quite a bit today, haven't you, Mariko-chan~? I'd like to know how you'd feel if it were ME doing the killing instead of this girl. Would you go along with it because I'm the only friend you have, or would you object due to that fact alone? Would you be too frightened to object? ..." Lowering the bear, I pursed my lips. "It IS fun talking to this thing. Now I can see why you enjoy it so much. You're still a pathetic girl who no one loves - not even this thing - but you're at least CONNECTED to something." I took a bit of blood pooling out from her eyesocket, and smeared it over one of the bear's eyes. "By blood, now, even. And yet he still can't manage to care about you. How sad. You're even making me feel a certain emotion...." 

What was the word again? ...Ah, yes.

"...despair. That's supposed to be a bad emotion, isn't it? You're supposed to hate being in despair, feel a nerve-ending quake of depression...but despair and depression are two entirely different things, and only one is...enjoyable to me." I licked my lips as I pulled my knife from her eye with another **_spppptthhh._** "It's interesting, honestly....how you can only feel remnants of despair when it's coming from someone else. Yours are quite strong....perhaps the final despair is death, in its own way. That'd be the finale. The grand finale to the parade of despair that is life. I'm almost jealous that you get to feel it so soon." Nonchalantly, I shoved my knife into her heart, and giggled at the mild blood explosion that finally killed the little whelp. She didn't deserve to live, anyway. 

No one ever realized it was me, at the end of all this. No one ever realized that I'd be the one to be manipulating these idiots, turning them against each other due to their own faults and flaws, destroying them from the inside out to maybe make them realize that their insides are nothing more than darkened black, endless voids to be filled with despair. Perhaps that's why I've been the one in charge all of this time.

In short, life is an asylum...and I am the owner, and I take my job with pride.

The only one qualified to deal with the insane has to be insane themselves, anyway.


End file.
